


Rose Gardens and Memories

by bentofaxmachine



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: (Toichi is not alive sorry), Canonical Character Death, Crying, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Pre-Canon, Roses, Shinichi as an awkward but sweet friend, rated 'T' to stay safe, there's no language or violence, they're like 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29200911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bentofaxmachine/pseuds/bentofaxmachine
Summary: When 10-year-old Kaito returns to the rose gardens for the first time since his father's death, he finds himself lost in the memories that were made there.
Relationships: Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan & Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid, Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid & Kuroba Touichi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Rose Gardens and Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for tumblr's Writing Prompt Daily #1363: “Are you crying?” “Please,” their voice cracked against the word. “Don’t acknowledge it.”
> 
> It was supposed to be maybe 500 words but I got carried away... oops
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

The afternoon was warm, with the air filled with a rosy scent that permeated the open garden gates. There, a ten-year-old Kaito stands under the arched entrance. The iron of it is cool under his palm as he grips the closest bar on the left.

Kaito used to visit the rose gardens all the time. The gardeners knew the magician and his child who would visit every Saturday afternoon. Each time, they would start by taking the left path, lined with uneven cobblestone that would guide them through a miniaturized English garden in all of its unkempt and natural beauty. They would amble through, taking a right at the fork in the path, to go through the other side of the garden. More French influenced, it was full of meticulously manicured bushes with flat tops and warm-colored buds. At the end of it all, one of the nicer gardeners would come over and hand them roses. Kaito and his father would sit on a bench, talking about magic as they made their flowers appear and disappear in their hands.

The last time they had done this was almost a year ago, or five days before his father’s death. Since then, Kaito had crossed the street every time the familiar gates came into view, hiding in a cozy coffee shop until his desire to return was drowned out by a delicious cup of hot chocolate.

Until today.

A finger taps on Kaito’s shoulder, pulling him out of his memories. He blinks several times and glances at the impatient blue eyes that look up at him. Shinichi’s intensity can often make the boy shudder, since his glare seems to threaten to expose every secret that Kaito had harbored from the tiny detective since they met years ago in his father’s disguise class.

“Come on! You know you want to go in. I saw how you stared at the gates!” From anyone else, Kaito would have taken offense from the line, but the detective says it with his head tipped in a way that it seems more endearing than condescending. He nods and walks with the detective through the iron gates.

The rosy smell that fills Kaito’s lungs is almost overwhelming after spending so much time away from it. As he adjusts, Kaito looks over at Shinichi, who’s trying to mask his nose by covering his mouth for a halfhearted cough. His friend turns red when he’s caught mid-cough, which makes Kaito giggle. Perhaps it’s a little too loud to be normal, but Shinichi seems too embarrassed to pick up on it.

“Let’s go right,” Shinichi grumbles. As he begins down the path, Kaito remembers -

_“Remember, we always start down the left path.”_

_Kaito looks up at his father. “But why?”_

_The magician crouches down and laughs as if he hadn't already explained this hundreds of times to his son. “There’s beauty in the freeness of the English gardens, but I find myself angry at the loose branches when we go through the other way first.”_

“Left.” Shinichi looks up at Kaito’s voice. It came out rougher than he had expected and Kaito winces at his tone.

“Let’s go left,” he repeats, this time more kindly and with a smile on his lips. Shinichi gives Kaito a wary glance but follows him anyways. 

As they walk through the path, Shinichi sticks his hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts, reading each rose’s tag for their general statistics: height, color, and region of origin. Kaito, who had remembered each of the tags long ago, bounces from one stone to another, careful to avoid the cracks and mossy slabs.

_“Don’t play games on the stones, Kaito. It’s rare to find so many beautiful roses in Japan, let alone ones that bloom so fully.”_

_Kaito hung his head. It wasn’t often that his father scolded him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, allowing the shame to seep through his voice._

_Calloused hands lift Kaito off the ground and seat him on his father’s shoulders. “You’re forgiven, Kaito,” he had responded, moving towards the bushes so his son could peek at the tea roses which were hidden towards the back of the garden._

With a sigh, Kaito slows down his pace. He wonders how his hidden roses are doing, but remembers that he can’t check. Something tears at his heart.

When he gets to the fork in the path, Kaito finds that Shinichi is still far behind, staring at the pink climbing roses which wrap around the wooden lattice panel that had been built for them.

_“It’s quite amazing how such small seeds will grow to be taller than us,” his father had said when the gardeners let them plant those very roses._

Kaito swallows back a lump in his throat and sniffles. He must be coming down with a cold. After a moment, he looks up at the direction sign before him. The top panel is a maroon, pointing right hand-painted with “French Gardens” in an even, white lettering. The one beneath it is navy blue and points left. It says “Continue on Path” in the same way, but letters are squeezed in towards the end.

_“Why do we always go right?”_

_Oyaji smiled. As usual, it was easy and opening, but Kaito suspected that there was a hint of sadness that strained it. “So you’ll make new memories here one day.”_

_“What new memories? We do this every Saturday, right?” Oyaji never responded. Instead, Kaito was pulled into a tight hug. It was tight, almost suffocating, unlike the hugs that his father normally gave. Against his father’s linen t-shirt, Kaito struggled, grumbling about how he couldn’t breathe through it and it was too warm to be doing this anyway._

_Regardless, Oyaji didn’t let go. “I love you, Kaito,” he says, pulling his son tighter until he stopped fighting back._

_That was the last time they had gone to the gardens._

Silent tears run as Kaito stares at the sign. Now, he wishes that he hadn’t complained. 

“I’m sorry, Oyaji,” he cries, interrupted by the sob he had battled down for so long. Kaito’s eyes don’t leave the sign as his tears fall freely to the ground. Someone calls out his name, but Kaito ignores it. He remains put as footsteps patter on the path towards him.

A small hand grabs at his shoulder. “Are you crying, Kaito?” 

“No,” Kaito croaks. He covers his eyes, rubbing at them profusely to hide their redness from Shinichi. Of course, just then, he lets out another sob, louder than the last, negating his efforts.

“Kait-”

“Please,” Kaito starts, but his voice cracks and he can’t finish what he has to say. _Don’t acknowledge it._

Shinichi seems to understand. Aside from the funeral, they had never been emotional around each other, and even then, Shinichi had only sat with him, getting up every once in a while to get his friend some more tissues or a bar of chocolate. 

“Rubbing your eyes like that is bad for them,” he says. Light returns under Kaito’s eyelids as Shinichi pulls his arms down. When he opens his bloodshot eyes, Shinichi is looking away and slightly flushed. “Let’s keep going.” 

This time, Kaito follows Shinichi’s lead as he holds onto his right wrist. The two of them walk down the left path, unfamiliar to either of them. Rather than being filled with red and pink roses, the path is filled with yellow, purple, and white flowers which Kaito didn’t know the names of. The dark green leaves gradually fill the path until the two boys have to shuffle sideways through the vegetation. Although the thorns cut through their exposed shins and catch on their thin shirts, Shinichi doesn’t let go the entire time.

Finally, plants begin to thin out, until the boys can walk side by side. At the end, they find themselves in a small circle, enclosed not by iron gates but tall bushes that had grown into each other over time. In the middle, a classic gazebo stands, with ten tall pillars that are placed around its perimeter. The structure is surrounded by several smaller rose bushes which had been trimmed long ago but allowed to grow freely for some time now. They step through the long grass which blankets the clearing to enter the odd structure. The grass that brushes against their cuts further inflames the stinging from the path.

As Shinichi walks around the edge, admiring its design, Kaito presses his palms onto the railing so only his toes brush the ground. He had thought that the structure would be made of marble, but the banister isn’t cold to his touch when his hands push down. 

Kaito’s lips twist into a wistful smile as he steps his feet onto the lower edge of the railing. “He never showed me this.”

“Your father?” Kaito looked over, surprised that Shinichi had responded. At some point, he must have settled in his new spot next to Kaito, leaning his back against the railing to face the opposite of his friend. Kaito wonders if Shinichi knows how cool he looks while doing so.

When Kaito nods at Shinichi’s guess, he doesn’t celebrate as he usually does, saying that he’s well on his way to becoming the next Holmes. Instead, he looks up at Kaito, worried, as if he might start crying again. He looks down and smiles at the detective, but when the look doesn’t fade, Kaito bends his body over to pick a deep pink rose off of the bushes as the gardeners had taught him long ago.

“He taught me magic here.” After a shaky breath, he makes the rose disappear in a single, smooth motion. Shinichi’s mouth forms a small “o” when it reappears, undamaged. “The last time we came, he told me to make new memories on this path.”

Hearing this, Shinichi moves his hand to his chin. It’s a habit he had picked up after the two of them had watched a Holmes adaptation together. Even though he still spent the whole movie complaining about the differences from the novels, he had still watched the detective with great admiration. Most days, Kaito doesn’t mind listening to Shinichi’s rather crass deduction. But he’s already cried in front of Shinichi today and worries that the next words to leave the detective’s mouth would make it happen again.

To distract him, Kaito holds the rose to Shinichi’s face close enough that the rose brushes his nose. Shinichi blinks at the rose, eyes wide as his fingers hover away from his chin.

“Dark pink roses are for thankfulness,” Kaito explains as he tucks it behind his friend’s ear. Shinichi scowls and moves his hand from his chin to halfheartedly bat Kaito away.

“Idiot,” he hears Shinichi grumble. He never means it though, not when it comes to Kaito. 

Kaito bends over to pick up his own flower. It’s a lighter pink than Shinichi’s, but still a rich color that doesn’t bleed out at the edges. He rolls the stem between his fingers and takes a breath.

“Thanks for making me come back. I really missed it here,” Kaito confesses. He watches Shinichi’s response carefully, observing the way that he plucks the flower from his ear and stares at it in wonder. 

“We can always come back again,” Shinichi offers as he investigates the rose’s thornless stem. Their eyes meet and Shinichi brightens, “We could do so much here! Read Holmes, for instance.”

Kaito laughs, feeling relief for the first time under the gazebo. “Or I could become the greatest magician ever.” He hops off of the railing and begins following the path back to the entrance, imagining all of the tricks he’d show Shinichi the next time that they came.

“Or we could switch off! One time we do my thing and the next time we do yours,” Shinichi calls out as he chases after his friend. Kaito grins, because it’s so rare to hear his friend speak louder than a normal level voice.

_I’d like that_ , he thinks to himself as he slips through the bushes. _My favorite memories will be with my favorite people at my favorite place._

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, and compliments below are appreciated; even just a "!!!!" is enough to encourage me to write a little more :)
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr [here](https://bentofaxmachine.tumblr.com/)


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